


Hitting the Reset Button

by KitLlwynog



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Modern Girl in Thedas, Reincarnation, Sort Of, Soul-bond, as promised, maybe this time I’ll finish it, rewrite of an earlier work, time-travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitLlwynog/pseuds/KitLlwynog
Summary: A modern woman, depressed by the end of Tresspasser, is approached by Dirthamen in the Fade and given the chance of a lifetime. Leave her life behind and help convince Fen’harel of the error of his ways.Can she use her knowledge and skills to change the Dread Wolf’s heart or is the future fated to disaster?





	1. A Terrible Choice

The woman pushed the power button on the video game console, rubbing her eyes as the screen went to black. As much as she wanted to blame eyestrain for her blurry vision, that would hardly explain the lump in her throat. It was ridiculous. Solas was just a bunch of pixels designed by an artist with the voice of an actor behind it. She knew that, in her brain, so why did it feel worse than any real life heartbreak? It was not only silly, it was a betrayal of the life that she had, a family she loved, a job she had worked hard for. 

“Stupid Fen’harel and his stupid pride,” she muttered under her breath, kicking her jeans aside before slumping onto the bed. She thought she'd never get to sleep, echoes of his last words, “I will never forget you,” ringing in her ears. But eventually, fatigue won out over her unruly emotions, and her dreams continued where her waking mind left off, making up a better ending to the story.

*******************

A disconsolate howl echoed through the Fade, shaking the very foundations of reality. If any spirits remained, they shied away from the huge black wolf and his sorrow. Thedas, at least as the denizens of the Age of Dragons would recognize it, was no more, and Fen’harel wept at his failure, the last in a long line of tragedies laid squarely at his feet. 

For every other mistake, there had been a backup plan, an escape route. Leaving a way out was a lesson the Dread Wolf had learned long ago, but from this, there could be no recovery. The only way forward was death, and in the Fade that was likely to come slowly. He would have ample time to consider each wrong turn of his life in individual and excruciating detail. His great head sagged, his nose nearly touching the lifeless ground at his feet. This was what he deserved.

Time passed, hours or years uncounted, and then, his ears flicked forward, his nostrils flaring. There was something out there; he didn't know what, but where there was life, there was hope. Someone far wiser than he had said that, once upon a time. He moved toward this spark, spurred on by the answering flame in his own heart. 

It was a long journey, far into the deep, still places of the Fade. He had often explored such places in his youth, but even he had never traveled this far, escaping the bonds of the enchantment upon the ruins of Arlathan so that the shadow of his once beautiful homeland faded into the green mist. He wouldn’t have been been able to sense the spark, whatever it was, back when the Fade had teemed with spirits and life. Only now, at the end of all things, was the world of dreams empty enough to lead him here, but what he found was something he hadn't expected.

It was a dream, like many others he had witnessed, contained within a transparent bubble. There was something about it that was wrong, with the magical equivalent of a strange aftertaste, but more than that, the subject of the dream was distressing. It was him, a dream of love and loss, but he didn't understand how that could be. Both the dreamer and the situation were quite unfamiliar, but he couldn't make himself look away. The images before his eyes filled him with longing, despair, and shame in equal measure. 

“Of all the places I thought I'd find you mourning your failure, perverse voyeurism at the edge of another world was not among my wildest expectations.” The voice, familiar as his own despite millennia of separation, made Solas bolt upright, prepared to fight or flee. But the other elf made no move, only offering a smug smile that did not reach his eyes.

 _Dirthamen,_ Solas said, infusing his mental voice with the coldness and suspicion that a wolf face could not accurately convey. _I should have known you would survive._ It had been a long time since Solas had seen his brother, and he found it more disconcerting than he remembered, like looking into a warped mirror. His facial structure was almost identical to Solas’s elven form, but where his hair had been curly and auburn, Dirthamen's was thick, wavy, and black like an oil slick. His eyes were such a deep violet that the pupil was almost indistinguishable, echoing his secretive nature. He met Solas’s appraising stare without blinking, his eyes seeming to devour every detail even as his tone remained banal.

“Of course. Once I saw what you intended, I retreated to the prison you so kindly constructed for me,” Dirthamen replied, sweeping his cloak of shadowy black feathers around his shoulders. “It was more than adequate to shield me from the magical backlash, though I do not know how the rest of our _family_ fared. However, that is unimportant at present,” he said archly. “You've made quite a mess of things, and if we want to put the world back together, there is no time to waste.”

Normally, Solas would have been irritated by the accusation, but in this case, it was deserved. A wave of utmost despair crashed over him, and it was an effort of will not to howl his agony to the heavens. _There's nothing to be done. Everything is gone,_ he choked out.

Dirthamen clacked his tongue and shook his head. “Giving up already? That isn't like you.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, square object strung on a leather cord.

 _Is that…?_ Solas exclaimed, surprised despite himself.

“The focus for Alexius’s time-bending magic, yes,” Dirthamen said. “Fascinating object. I was interested for my own reasons, but considering the circumstances, I believe it is time to make use of it.”

Solas tried to repress his excitement with the cold weight of logic. Surely things could not be that easy. _I'm not sure how much good that will do. According to the magister, it will only bring time back to the moment just after the Breach. And considering the destruction, it may not even function._

“It would be impossible for a mortal. As corrupted as he was, even Alexius was unwilling to make enough sacrifices to raise the power he would require,” Dirthamen said, leaving ambiguous his own opinion of the magister’s actions. “Sequestered from the Fade as it is, making such a drastic change to the material world will cost an unprecedented amount of energy. However, I believe that combining our power should be enough to move the inertia of the world beyond the Veil to the moment just before the opening of the Breach.”

Solas frowned. _Considering that no one will remember the change, how can a few extra minutes make any difference?_

“I have some ideas, but in any case, it is your best chance, the world's best chance, for redemption,” Dirthamen said. The was a hint of desperation in his voice that Solas had never heard before. His brother had always been so infuriatingly smug. “You are right about the destruction, however. We cannot afford to wait much longer.”

 _What do you want? How does this benefit you?_ Solas asked, his eyes narrowed. The two of them hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms. Perhaps this was only Dirthamen’s final attempt at revenge.

“You are not the only one with mistakes to rectify,” he replied, his voice strangely soft. His hand had strayed to his throat, and Solas recognized the gesture. His own hand had grasped the wolf jawbone in the same manner a hundred times before, drawing strength from the memory of someone long gone. “Not that it matters for the long-term, but in case you were unaware, I am asking you to surrender your power to me. All of it,” Dirthamen added sharply.

 _I understand,_ Solas answered, glad he would not have to speak through the tightness in his throat. Not since Falon’din had his brother cared about anyone or anything over his own incomprehensible machinations, until now. It seemed Solas had not been the only one changed by the beings in the world he had created. He approached Dirthamen cautiously, his ears flat against his head. _You swear that you will make things right?_

For once, Dirthamen did not smile. “I will rewind time to just before the explosion that created the Breach. I have some other notions, but all with the intention of preventing this catastrophe from happening again. You have my word.”

Solas felt a flutter of unease in his heart. What could his brother be planning? But nothing could be worse than the world as it was now, and there was no fixing it without Dirthamen’s help. Even if one of the other Evanurus had survived, it would take too long to find and convince them. “I know it is too late for apologies, or forgiveness,” his brother continued, echoing the feelings in Solas’s heart, “But we trusted each other, once. Can you not allow me to aid you at the last?”

Fen’harel let out a long sigh and met Dirthamen’s eyes. _Very well. I place myself into your hands._

Dirthamen knelt and put a hand on either side of the wolf’s head. “Dareth shiral, isa’ma’lin. I pray that we meet again under better circumstances.” The wolf breathed out, expelling a wisp of energy, cyan in color, that crackled with cold and smelled like moss and old books. The wisp grew, swirling around them both with the rhythm of unseen music, the words of long-dead languages writing themselves and erasing them again just as quickly. Then the sphere of energy collapsed in on itself, an explosion in reverse. The wolf was gone, and all that remained was a tiny cyan star that pulsed with power like a heartbeat.

Dirthamen sighed then, his expression grim and resolute as he pulled what was left of the Dread Wolf inside his cloak. “Now to ensure this mistake is not repeated.” He turned to the dream bubble and considered it for several seconds. “This In an unexpected development, but not unwelcome.”

****************

“You are so beautiful,” he said, and the expression on his face was so vulnerable and open that she thought her heart would burst. The kiss started soft, but it was deep with passion and…

“Dreaming of the Dread Wolf? I suppose there's no accounting for taste,” said a cool, low voice, somehow distant while also sounding as if it was right next to her ear. She blinked in confusion, and the dream shattered around her like broken glass. The landscape was twisted and broken, shrouded in green mist.

“What happened? Where am I?” she asked, though she couldn't even see the person who had spoken before. She was dreaming, she knew that now, but usually once she realized it, the dream went away. Was this some sort of dream within a dream? She had dreamed about waking up before…

“You are in the Fade. I assume you have some familiarity with the concept, though I don't quite understand how,” said the same voice from behind her. All she could see was a dark form in the distance. His answer didn't make sense; it felt like being thrown into the deep end of a pool in a life where she didn't know how to swim.

“Who are you?” she called out, the only question she could find the words for. Was it her imagination that a pair of vivid purple eyes glinted out of that darkness?

“Do you really love him? Would you save him, if given the chance?” the mystery man asked. At least she thought it was a man. He hadn't answered her question, which was annoying, but dreams being what they were…

“You mean Solas? I… yes. I do love him, but I don't know what you mean. He isn't… real.” It was embarrassing to admit, even to herself.

“Not in your world, perhaps. A strange coincidence that I wish I had the luxury to examine further, but there is no time.” He stepped forward until his features were clearer. His high forehead and strong jaw were familiar, and she opened her mouth to ask, but he spoke again. “I am Dirthamen. We have not met, but I believe you have heard of me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You're the god of secrets… to the Dalish. One of the Evanuris.” This wasn’t real. It couldn't be, but her heart was pounding. It was oddly specific for a nightmare. Solas had said the Evanuris were just mages, but they were powerful, and they lied. She fancied she could feel Dirthamen's magic, cold like the deepest ocean or the void of space, held at bay only by his whim. Her throat tightened.

“The god of knowledge and magic also, yes. But I’m sure my brother has told you much more than that. I can see it in your eyes,” he said, an amused grin baring slightly pointed canines. 

“Your brother?” she asked, shivering.

“I'm sure you can see the resemblance. We aren't brothers in the mortal sense, but as spirits we grew from similar energies, and we manifested and were raised together. Wisdom and Knowledge are a powerful combination, though our paths obviously diverged.” He was still smiling, but it wasn't a kind expression. “But that doesn't matter at the moment. You never answered my question. If you had the chance to save Fen’harel from himself, with all the power and opportunity that might require, would you? Even if it meant giving up whatever life you have in this world?”

“What?” He didn't answered her confused query, but clasped his hands in front of him, obviously awaiting her answer. It was an insane question. How could she give up on her life? She had worked so hard, for so long, and suffered so much. But she wasn't happy, a little voice reminded. She had always felt frustrated, unimportant. In Thedas, she could make a real difference, for Solas, and for the world. Besides, this was probably a dream. Why shouldn't she follow her heart? “If… If I could really help him, I would, but I don't see how that's possible.”

“Achieving the impossible is where I come in,” Dirthamen said, his eyes gleaming. “I believe you are uniquely suited to this task, and since allowing Fen’harel to destroy the world would be quite inconvenient for me, I will assist you.”

“What do you mean, uniquely suited?”she asked. She didn’t feel like she had any skills that would be particularly helpful in Thedas. There was nothing special about her, except for the fact that she had a difficult time fitting in with ‘normal’ people.

“That's something you will have to discover for yourself,” he said, a hint of smug anticipation in his tone. “Now, step into the magic circle.” Before she could ask, a complex symbol made of interlocking shapes and symbols appeared on the ground, the lines faintly glowing with what she could only assume as magical power. 

“Why?” she asked, feeling suddenly wary.

“Your suspicion of me is not unfounded, but we don't have time for it,” he said sharply. “For this plan to work, you have to look like you belong, as well as be someone Fen’harel will both recognize and find interesting. Fortunately, that will not take much in the way of alteration.” He beckoned her forward, and this time she didn't hesitate. Her skin tingled as magic traveled over and through her. 

“Taller and thinner, I think, but not too much, and the ears, of course,” Dirthamen muttered under his breath. A sharp, pinching sensation accompanied his words, and she wanted to put her hands on her ears, just to feel the difference, but she found she couldn't move. “Be patient,” he admonished. “Something is not quite right.” He pursed his lips, considering in silence for what seemed like an eternity, considering she could no longer speak. Finally, Dirthamen's eyes lit up. “I know just the thing to get him bent out of shape.”

That didn't make any sense to her. Weren't they supposed to be convincing Solas not to destroy the world? Antagonizing him seemed like the wrong idea. But Dirthamen was waving his fingers in a complex pattern, and she felt the touch of magic again, this time on her face. “There we are. That will make him sit up and pay attention. Now, you need a name.”

“I have a name already,” she said, frowning and crossing her arms over her chest. At least she could move again. 

Dirthamen snorted, an incongruously inelegant sound. “For your protection, you need to be convincingly Dalish, at least to the public. That means an Elvhen name. Lathera will be your name, unless you have a better idea.”

Lathera. She tested out the syllables on her tongue. It felt… good. “I guess that's fine,” she said, flashing a scowl at his high-handed attitude. 

His eyebrows arched, but he seemed more pleased than angry. “Very well. When you awaken, you will be in the best position to save Fen’harel for himself. Do you have any questions, before we begin?”

She swallowed. “Don't you have advice for me or something? You are his brother.”

“He and I have been on different paths for thousands of years. I've ensured that you catch his attention, but you have to keep it, and convince him that Thedas is worth saving as it is. That his mistakes must be faced rather than erased. How you might accomplish that, I could not say. There is no more time to waste.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Dirthamen reached out and pressed one long finger to her forehead. Everything went black. 

He sighed, shaking the tension from his shoulders as he gazed at the soul now floating in the center of his sigil. “Now comes the difficult part, to remake what has been broken.” He took three carven orbs of bronze metal out of his cloak and set them around the outside of the circle. More glowing lines sprouted around them like vines, tracing words and shapes into the cracked stone until all the lines converged, flaring with a surge of power. The lord of secrets stepped into the web, taking his place opposite Lathera’s spirit. He pulled a silver dagger out of his sleeve and slashed once across his palm before pressing his hand flat to the ground. The spell glowed red. Spirits began rising out of the ground as tendrils of blue-green and violet magic drew themselves onto the air. 

“Return,” Dirthamen said in a voice like a gong. The world imploded.

***************************

Solas jerked awake, blinking at the curtain of pine needles above his head. It had been a strange dream, even for him, with parts that were not within his control. Something involving his brother. It would have been dishonest to claim that he never thought of Dirthamen, but it certainly wasn't a subject he enjoyed. There had been more, a plan gone wrong, a deal, a woman; the more he tried to grasp at it, the more it faded, like trying to hold water in cupped fingers. He shook himself and went to the stream to splash his face.

Once he had washed and dressed, he felt more at ease, though even now the relentless solidity of the world distressed him. The road was punishing to his feet, though the snow had mostly melted. He topped a rise and saw, below and to his left, the village of Haven, bustling with pilgrims and templars, plus a few brave apostates, waiting on news from Divine Justinia’s conclave on the mountain above. 

Solas’s informants had told him that Corypheus was heading this way. The implications were horrifying. So many innocent lives were at stake, but there was nothing to be done. Solas was too weak still to stop the events that he had set into motion. All he could do was wait, and hope. He started down into the village, staff in hand, a latecomer to the Conclave they might assume, or a curious onlooker. 

But before he came to the bridge, an explosion knocked him onto his back. The air whooshed from his lungs, and as he panted for breath he saw a wild, green globe of energy shoot straight upward and burst against the clouds. His heart seemed to stop for one agonizing moment as the Veil cracked open, magic swirling upward like drain as energy flowed out of Thedas and into the Fade. Rubble from the temple rose into the sky and spirits fell out, screaming in agony and fear.

“No,” Solas gasped out. Of all the outcomes that could have resulted from his giving his orb to Corypheus, this was among the worst. The orb had been unlocked, but at the cost of hundreds of lives. The Veil had been opened, but in the most destructive way. Thousands of spirits would die, if not more. He pushed himself upright, grunting as his joints complained at the ill use. There was only one thing to do. He ran toward the sounds of screaming, to help.


	2. Marked Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lathera arrives in Thedas just in time for the explosion. Solas is given charge of the Conclave’s lone survivor, who proves to be an unexpected conundrum.

When her eyes opened, she was standing up, which was strange enough, but she was also in an unfamiliar stone corridor, her ear pressed to a wooden door. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. She'd gone to sleep and had a strange dream… Solas and Dirthamen? Everything before that was a blur. Was she still dreaming? Someone had called her Lathera, but if that was her name, it lacked the usual sense of recognition.

“Bring forth the sacrifice,” said a deep voice in the next room, resonant with malevolence. Something about it was familiar enough to jolt her from her confusion; she knew it was bad, even if she didn't know why. But when she pushed the door open, she had to stop herself from instinctively turning and running. 

There was something inhuman in the room, eight feet tall, at least, with cracked skin sprouting translucent red crystal. A crest of black feathers sprouted from its bony shoulders, and in one skeletal hand, it held a metal sphere that crackled with crimson lightning. An old woman in ornate robes hung in the air, suspended by, and struggling against, the same sinister power. Lathera knew she had to do something.

“What's going on here?” she said, in a voice braver than she felt. Everyone in the room turned toward her with varying expressions of surprise, but the old woman reacted first, freeing an arm just enough to knock the orb from the monster’s hand.

“Grab it! Stop them!” she called as the still glowing sphere thudded to ground and rolled toward Lathera. 

“We have an intruder. Kill the elf,” the monster said, and soldiers dressed in blue rushed forward. At that moment, there was only one option. She scooped the orb from the ground, intending to run, but the moment the wild energy surrounding it contacted her skin, she felt something like an electrical shock down her spine. As she struggled upright, it started to sting, and then burn. The magic, she knew it was magic somehow, had turned bright green, and it seemed to leap down her left arm with chaotic glee. A hot spike of agony stabbed through her hand, and she screamed. Her mind exploded with sound and light, and her vision went white.

****************

“Fenedhis,” Solas murmured under his breath as he once again blotted the paper with ink. He'd been writing notes on his observations of the Breach, and in considering his wording, he'd left the quill resting on the page too long. 

He still wasn't quite accustomed to the physical task of writing. Ancient Elvhen had usually been laid down with magic, and even though he had learned to read in write in Trade and Tevene as soon as he returned to the world, he generally preferred to keep his thoughts in the sanctity of his own mind. But these words were not for him alone, but for the Inquisition, the nascent organization spearheaded by Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and her associates. 

Solas had many reasons to distrust the human Chantry, but they were the only ones keeping any sort of order around here, searching for survivors and protecting the inhabitants of Haven from the demons falling out of the Breach at an alarming rate. Sister Leliana had her scouts and spies scouring the site… the former site… of the Temple of Sacred Ashes for the foci that had caused the explosion. His foci.

This was all his fault, his mistake, compounding upon the original mistake of the creation of the Veil. The least Solas could do was help, even when the situation seemed so hopeless. He knew the most about the Breach, and if anyone was to survive this madness, the knowledge would have to be shared, blots and all. 

A knock on the door jarred him from both his thoughts and his attempts to wipe the blot from the paper. “Yes?” he said, perhaps a bit more sharply than warranted. 

“I'm sorry, Messere Solas, but Lady Cassandra needs you. Right away,” answered a shaking voice. An elven servant, one of many. These were not so badly treated as the ones in Orlais, or the slaves in Tevinter, but it still rankled. At the moment, however, irritation was overridden by fear. The Seeker would not summon him so late for anything less than an emergency. That could only mean the situation has worsened.

“I will be right there,” he answered, holding his voice steady, perhaps more for his sake than for the servant. Even pretending to be in control was better than the alternative.

“Yes, ser.” He grabbed his staff and slipped on his coat against the bitter mountain air before making his way to the Chantry. Cassandra cornered him as soon as he walked in the door, grabbing his shoulder in a vise grip. “Come with me.” 

His first thought was that she had finally decided he was a threat, and his heart pounded. One warrior, even a fearsome warrior like Cassandra, would be no match for him even in his weakened state, but she wasn't alone. He shook the hand off his shoulder. “What exactly is going on, Seeker?” he asked in a low voice.

She looked at him sharply, but didn’t grab him again. At least he wasn't under arrest. “The scouts found… something. We should not speak of it here,” she said, beckoning him into a side corridor and down the stairs.

His heart leapt with hope. Could the orb have survived after all? Perhaps this whole debacle would be soon rendered moot… But their destination was concerning. “Is there a reason we are heading toward the dungeons?”

Seeker Pentaghast expelled a sharp breath through her nose. “They found a survivor. They claim she… stepped out of the Fade. She is marked by a strange power, magic I have never seen before. Sister Leliana and I believe she may have had something to do with the explosion.”

Solas arched an eyebrow while inside, his mind was racing. They had no way of knowing about Corypheus, and he had no safe way of revealing his own knowledge at present. He had hoped the darkspawn had been destroyed in the blast, but what of this survivor? Were they a lieutenant of his? Had the power of the foci truly been preserved? “What would you have me do? Surely you have much more experience at interrogation,” he said, concealing his excitement with irritation.

Cassandra huffed again. “The prisoner is unconscious. Adan believes the mark is killing them. You are the only person here who knows anything about this type of magic.”

“So you hope I will keep your prisoner alive so you can interrogate them?” He could think of a number of objections to this idea, but he also felt he had no choice. Not only was he here on sufferance, an admitted apostate elf in the middle of the Chantry, but it might be the only way to stop the Breach.

“Yes,” the Seeker replied, her arms crossed over her chest. “Is there a problem?”

He shook his head. “I cannot make any promises until I have examined the prisoner, but I will do my best.”

Cassandra sighed. “I thought you might say that. There will be somewhere here, should you require assistance or supplies. I hope you will be able to give us some answers, for all our sakes.”

***************

The door locking behind him was not a comforting sound, even if he understood the necessity. The prisoner might be incapacitated at the moment, but there was no telling when that would change. Solas approached the cot in the corner, casting a barrier in case of mishap. Wild green light flickering on the ceiling told him one thing; whoever this was, they had received the power of the foci, somehow. He still had no idea what to expect. A normal mortal should not have been capable of wielding it at all. 

He reached out and carefully rolled the prisoner onto their back. They… she was a female elf, but that wasn't what had nearly stopped his heart. She looked just like… “It can't be,” he whispered, shaking his head in denial. Rosalinsil was gone. He had held her in his arms as she took her last breath in the days before Arlathan fell. He had tried to save her, to gather her shattered spirit, but even the embers of it had faded during his long years of wandering the Fade. The resemblance had to be a coincidence, the long, pale hair like captured starlight, the straight brows now furrowed with pain, the delicate arch of soft lips. His fingers ached to touch; he almost had to slap himself. This was not his lost love, of course not, but the marks on her face.. 

Fen’harel had never had a vallaslin. Considering that the crux of his entire rebellion against the Evanuris had been his belief that the practice was cruel and immoral, that would have sent some mixed messages. But there was no denying the intention of the dark green marks inked into her skin, the shapes of six eyes curving over her forehead and temple, the suggestion of a toothy maw, unusually asymmetrical, so that one side appeared to be snarling while the other smiled. 

This was intended for him, no matter that he’d never heard of the Dalish doing such a thing. If the clans paid heed to the Dread Wolf at all, it was normally with a desultory sort of fear, never worship. These marks were meant to get his attention, but for what purpose, he could not guess. Another thing to ask her when she woke… if she woke.

The mark flared, sputtering and hissing angrily, and she moaned, her head lolling back and forth. With only a moment of hesitation, Solas grabbed her left hand. “Haminas, lethallan,” he murmured out of habit, taken back briefly to a time when he had often soothed another from her nightmares. Someone who wore the same face.

He shook his head and began to draw out the excess magic, using it to strengthen his own mana pools. Her pulse and breathing were steady, at least. If he could keep the magic from the mark stable, she would probably recover, with time. The real question was, would Cassandra and the others be patient enough to wait?

*******************

Nearly three days later, and Solas was worn to a thread. He knocked heavily on the door to the chamber that had been commandeered as the command post. Josephine Montilyet, the Inquisition’s ambassador, leaned out of the doorway, her eyebrows raising when she saw him. “Solas. Please tell me you have some good news.”

“I believe she will wake within a few hours. Her sleep now seems to be entirely natural, and the mark is as stable as it is likely to get without taking the measures we have already discussed.”

“You still believe the mark may be able to seal the Breach?” she asked, hope and skepticism warring in her tone.

“I'm as sure as I can be without the ability to test my hypothesis,” he answered. The mark had not been designed to close rifts in the Veil, of course, but he had never planned for anything like the Breach. However, if the magic hadn't been irrevocably altered by its attachment to a mortal body, it should be able to manipulate the Veil and the Fade in many ways, including sealing holes. 

“I suppose that is all we can ask for,” Josephine said, sighing. “You should get some rest while you can. If the troops are going back to the Temple tomorrow, your assistance will be invaluable.”

“Yes,” he agreed wearily. “I intend to go directly to my cabin from here. Good night, ambassador.” He barely had the energy to drink a mug of water before falling into his bed, and then he was in the Fade.

The mark blazed like a beacon in the land of dreams, drawing him toward it almost against his will. He had tried to view her dreams before, looking for any scrap of knowledge that might help him bring her back from the brink, but they had been too disjointed to make sense of. Perhaps now that she was close to recovery, he would be able to learn more about her.

He approached the edge of her dream with caution. He had noticed before that her consciousness had a strange flavor to it, something faintly alien, and that hadn't changed. The dream itself, however, was eerily familiar. She was sitting in his lap while he braided her hair. The atmosphere between them was at once comfortable and electric with potential. Even as his mind reeled with confusion, his chest tightened with longing.

“Solas?” He was so caught up with the sound of her voice, so close to the one that lived in his memory, that he didn't notice at first that the dream had dissolved. She was standing front of him now, her hand reaching out, perhaps to see if he was real.

He blinked. “You know me?” The contents of her dreams told him that she did, but not how.

Her brow furrowed. “I feel like I do, but I can't remember… Everything seems strange. I thought I was dreaming, but now…”

“We are in the Fade,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back in hopes of keeping them from reaching out. It wasn't just her appearance that drew him. She was lost and confused but unafraid, her expression trusting even as curiosity and wit glimmered from her eyes. In the Fade, that wasn't even an exaggeration. Her emotions were writ on the air like a courtier’s perfume, and the scent was one he found intriguing. “All mortals come here when they dream, but only mages may travel this realm with full consciousness. If you find this unfamiliar, perhaps it is because the magic of the mark on your hand has awakened latent magical abilities.”

She looked down at her hand. In the Fade, it didn't crackle with instability, but glowed with steady golden light, a deceptively benign and gentle beacon. “Maybe, but that doesn't sound… right. Everything feels unfamiliar… unreal. I can't quite explain it.”

“Do you remember anything about what happened before?” he asked, waving his hand to call up chairs, one for himself and another for her. She arched an eyebrow at his manipulation of the Fade, but said nothing, taking the seat across from him.

“I remember being in a hallway. I was confused, but I heard a terrible, deep voice. I knew something bad was about to happen, and when I opened the door there was… a monster,” she said, shuddering. “He was going to hurt an old woman, but she knocked something out of his hand. I picked it up, and it hurt. That's all, really.”

It was just as Solas had feared. Corypheus had come closer to unlocking the orb than he had ever thought possible, and had intended to sacrifice the Divine to achieve his final goal. The only bright spot in all of it was that the explosion had probably killed the creature as well. “And before that?”

“I'm not sure,” she said, chewing the inside of her lower lip in an infuriatingly charming way. “I remember a man in a dark cloak. He asked me if I was willing to do something… to help you, I think.”

That was an unpleasant surprise. “To help me? With what?”

Her brow furrowed as she thought. “I can't remember. I feel like he wanted me to keep you from making a terrible mistake.”

Solas was abruptly brought back to the dream he'd had on the day of the explosion. That was one thing he'd held on to, the sense that something terrible had happened. He couldn't quite help shuddering. “I gather you agreed to his terms.”

“I must have,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, I know I wanted to help you. Even though I can't quite remember why, I know that I… care about you. You're important to me.”

Solas swallowed, his mind leaping to hopeful conclusions despite his better judgement. What if this was Rosalinsil after all, somehow returned from beyond the Fade? It made as much sense as any other explanation, but he couldn't quite let himself believe. It would be too cruel to be wrong, and unfair to her, to expect anything. “So you have no memories of your life before? By the vallaslin on your face, I had assumed you were Dalish.”

“Every time I try to think about before, I just get a lot of meaningless images,” she said. Her hands went to cheeks when he mentioned the vallaslin. “There's something on my face?”

He shook his head. The more he learned, the stranger things became. Even with amnesia, it was unexpected for her to have forgotten what she looked like, unless the vallaslin was quite recently applied, but it didn't look fresh. Could magic have been involved? Perhaps done by the man in he dark cloak? But what mistake was he trying to prevent? Solas did not like feeling manipulated, especially when he didn't know who was behind it. 

At the very least, he decided, this woman wearing the face of his long lost love seemed as much like a puppet as he was, if not more. He couldn't bring himself to hold it against her. “We can discuss it further when you wake. I am afraid you will be in for a difficult time.”

“Will you be there, when I wake up?” she asked, her voice suddenly small and vulnerable. Her eyes were just the same as he remembered, endless icy pools that were nevertheless filled with warmth. His heart contracted.

“I… will be. Perhaps not right away,” he amended. Cassandra and Leliana would no doubt have questions for her, and he now wished he had a way to spare her all that. But at the very least, he knew they wouldn't hurt her because they were desperate for her help in closing the Breach. He could only pray it would work in the way he suspected. “I will do whatever I can to aid you,” he finally said, meeting her gaze as steadily as he could. “Do you have a name, da’len?”

“The man in the dark cloak called me Lathera. I guess that must be my name,” she said, sounding unconvinced. Lathera meant dream-love. It was a bit on the nose, Solas thought with a slight frown.

“If anyone asks, then, I would suggest that you claim to be Dalish. Perhaps you were separated from your clan during the Blight and found work as a servant in the temple. Hopefully, that will discourage more questions. I’m afraid that the world you will wake to is a dangerous one, and I can only do so much to protect you. As both an elf and a mage, my status is rather tenuous.”

She nodded. “I'll be careful. And thank you, for the help and advice.”

“It is the least I can do,” he said. Considering that all of her suffering was the direct result of his miscalculations, it was perhaps the truest thing he'd ever said.

*********************

Lathera came to consciousness kneeling on a stone floor. Her hands were bound in front of her, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim, she could see the green slash of light on her left palm, hissing like an angry cat. As if it had noticed her attention, it flared to life, sending pulses of electric pain up her arm that made her gasp. 

The door slammed open and a woman clad in plate armor and a fierce expression strode into the room. There was a sound of scraping metal. Lathera hadn't even noticed the guards with their swords trained on her until they were being sheathed. Another woman entered, pale, with a chainmail coat and a purple hood, looking over her prisoner with a thoughtful expression.

“Tell me why we shouldn't just kill you,” said the first woman, her voice low and harsh. “The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.”

“Everyone is dead?!” Lathera repeated, gaping. “I didn't kill anyone.” She didn't even know what they meant about the Conclave. It sounded… almost familiar, but she couldn't come up with details.

“Explain this,” said her interrogator, picking up the marked hand, shoving it into Lathera’s face so she had to blink away from the light.

“I don't know what it is!” she exclaimed. 

“You're lying!” The first woman lunged toward her, desperate anger twisting her features, but the one in the hood, who had not yet spoken, stepped between them.

“We need her, Cassandra,” she said. Cassandra growled in frustration, but stepped away, fists clenched. “Do you remember what happened?” asked the hooded woman. She had a vaguely familiar accent.

Lathera tried to think. It felt like her memories were slipping away even now. “All I remember is someone calling for help, and I tried… Then, things were chasing me… someone reached out to me. They were… glowing… and…” She shook her head. Something told her not to speak of Solas. 

“Glowing?” The hooded woman looked to Cassandra meaningfully and received a sigh in return.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I'll take her to the rift.” And just like that, Cassandra unlocked the shackles that were holding Lathera to the floor.

“I don’t understand what's going on,” she said, grimacing as she was pulled to her feet. Her legs wobbled from disuse, feeling returning in bursts of prickling pain.

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra said. They went up the stairs, through more stone corridors and past a set of wide wooden doors. Cold air stung Lathera’s cheeks and in the sky… 

It was huge, terrifying; it didn't seem real. A vortex of cloud and rocks hung in the air over the summit of a nearby mountain, and inside that… a hole. Looking up into it made her feel dizzy, like falling. “We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said, “A massive rift into the world of demons that grows with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift, just the largest. All caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“How could an explosion do that?” Lathera wondered aloud. 

“We don't know. But unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world,” Cassandra said. Jets of angry green lightning shot out of the fissure, and the mark on Lathera’s hand arced in painful response, driving her to her knees. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time, for any of us.” 

Cassandra was kneeling in front of her as Lathera fought to catch her breath. “I’ll do whatever I can,” she said finally. “But I don't know how to use this thing any more than you do.”

Cassandra nodded and cut the rope binding Lathera’s hands. “There's a mage here who believes he understands how it works. It is our best chance, so I will take you to him.”

Lathera felt her heart lurch. _Solas._ He must be the one. Even when all of her other memories were insubstantial as smoke, he stood in her thoughts like an anchor. “I'm ready,” she said, and she followed Cassandra out into the chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know this took forever, I’m behind on everything. Sorry. Hope you like it.

**Author's Note:**

> So, as you may or may not know, this used to be a much much longer work. But it was kind of getting away from me, so I decided to rewrite it, not only fixing a lot of internal errors but bringing it into line with several of my other works to create on consistent canon. So you’ll find mentions and tie-ins to my Arlathan fic whose nanes escapes me, Vir’Lath’Assan, and Where Wolves Fear to Tread, not to mention a few snippets I’ve written elsewhere about my Hawke. And some planned later work about Dirthamen. So at some point all of those things with also be finished and updated. Hopefully before I die.
> 
> Anyway, also I’ve left Tumblr because of their shitty policies, so you can find me on Twitter as KitLlwynog, or in some Solavellan discords as dragynfox. Also I have some original work in progress, and if you want to know about that, shoot me a message. Thanks for reading.


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